


Forgetting

by Dorkathus



Category: Underworld (2003)
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkathus/pseuds/Dorkathus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of going home to her quarters, to her nice soft bed and fresh clothes, everything she'd known was gone and here she was with a man she'd just met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgetting

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd.  
> "First Time" was a Fic 100 type prompt on Dreamwidth, which gave rise to this ficlet.

Everything was hard. Too much had happened, too fast. Instead of going home to her quarters, to her nice soft bed and fresh clothes, everything she'd known was gone and here she was with a man she'd just met. A human, for all he had been changed. Changed by her.

He was watching her. She could feel him. He was so new to this, his every movement was loud. So new, her child. She hadn't been ready for that. She hadn't been ready to bring someone into this world. But she hadn't been ready to leave her comfortable life, or to kill the only father she could truly remember having, yet those things had happened. Too much, too fast.

Michael's hands were on her, at her shoulders, her face. She'd thought herself unreadable, but he knew, somehow he was able to tell. Forehead to forehead, he didn't pressure her, and she didn't reject him like she might have just days ago. Somehow he knew what this was like for her. Him, newly Turned, for whom this must all be alien.

She kissed him then, or let him kiss her. A perfect moment of forgetting. He cradled her head, increasing the pressure, and her hands came up to his chest unbidden. She knew where this was going. She knew it in the way her pulse was starting to pound, as much as the way his muscles moved. She broke off from him.

His eyes were questioning, but there was no judgement or demand in them. "Gently, Michael. Please..." He didn't need to know why. He didn't need to understand. Let him reach his own conclusions about why she needed it to be this way.

Her coat, his jacket. Her corset, his shirt. His thumbs rubbed her nipples through her cat suit, and she shuddered against him, clinging. The long zip was drawn down, and Michael's mouth was at her throat, making her legs shake. He was pulling the suit down over her shoulders and arms while she fumbled nervously with the button on his pants. He nuzzled her face, smiling. Dammit, it wasn't meant to be cute. This wasn't meant to be cute.

He gave her nerves a break by taking over, stripping off what was left of her clothes, followed by his. His hands were slow, tracing patterns on her skin delicately. Her back, her stomach, her breasts, until she was moaning into his mouth.

Their actions became more urgent, and she pulled Michael down to the floor with her. It was an invitation, a request, but his face still wanted permission. "Please", she whispered against him. "Yes..." Anything, please, yes, anything he wanted, she needed this.

Her legs parted easily for him, and she whimpered when he entered her. "Michael..." It was almost unbearable when he began to move, achingly slow, a cruelty as much as a kindness. Her nails started to dig into his back, and words tumbled out one after the other, Michael, please, yes, and then just gasps of pleasure. She tugged his hair, pulling him back so she could press a hard kiss onto him, wordlessly begging him for more with lips and hands, and her heels pulling him deeper.

Fear took her when she felt her orgasm building. She couldn't let go, not here, not like this, not with him. But Michael kept thrusting inside her and it felt too good, pressing right there, and again, and then she was coming. She held onto his arms as if for dear life while her body spasmed and curled, tensing around him. Michael's deep shuddering gasp gave her a second, gentler wave of pleasure as he finished buried in her. She rode her last aftershocks watching him come down from his.

He was watching her again, when he settled down next to her. Why did he do that? It was as if he could see that something had happened, but didn't want to ask. Perhaps he didn't want to know. It didn't matter. The urge to move away and dress and pretend things were normal was powerful, but she fought it down. Michael was warm, and he would be happier if she stayed curled next to him. She could appease that desire for a while.


End file.
